Aurora
by rainydayjude
Summary: ch1- Edward behind a lens. ch2- Alice and Jasper wake up.
1. Shutter Bug

A small click, the smallest of sounds, breaks through the dream, coaxing me back to reality. It takes me a second to wake up my conscious when I hear another distinct click very close to where I lie. My eyes tighten against the noise instinctively, not because it's an intrusion, because it isn't. The sound is almost soothing, disappearing as soon as it appears, but it goes with a recoil instinct in my mind that reminds me how much I hate having my picture taken.  
Another click and, though the bed I lie in is pleading with me to stay, I have to open my eyes and see exactly what is going on.  
Blinking back disappointed sleep, I come face to face with a bronze haired camera lens.  
I see the shutter blink like an eye and another click brushes across my brain.  
"Good morning," The camera whispers.  
"'Morning" I whisper. My voice is coarse. "What are you doing?"  
The camera moves away, revealing a disheveled, barely awake himself, Edward. He's sitting on the floor cross legged, with a black camera placed securely in his hands. He tilts his head, smiling that crooked grin reserved simply for me and replies from vocal cords swathed in silk.  
"I'm stealing you." He quickly captures another image. "Keeping you."  
I bring my hand lethargically up to block the lens and turn to face the other way.  
Edward grabs my wrist and tugs at my arm, planting a sweet kiss on the back of my neck.  
"You can't do that now." He whispers into me. "I've stolen you, love. You're mine."  
Goosebumps cascade form the place where his lips touched my skin and I barley realize the bed behind me bending with his weight. Strong arms weave their way around my waist and I feel warm, wet breaths caress and play with my hair and neck.  
Another click.  
The camera is back in front of me, and it blinks again.  
"I can still see the camera, Edward." I whisper, turning around and hiding my face in his chest.  
Another click.  
Edward leans down and buries his face in my hair.  
Another click.  
I feel his nose skim my forehead, my hair and he inhales, tasting my smell, breathing me in.  
"Don't look." his lips move against my ears.  
I shake my head into his chest, pulling him close to me, hiding myself in him.  
"Put it aside, please."  
He shakes his head, clicking another picture.  
"No."  
I sigh, too sleepy and comfortable to argue. It won't have been worth the trouble anyway; I don't have the ability to deny him anything.  
"I'm sorry I woke you."  
His voice is apologetic.  
I shake my head, pressing into him further where there is nowhere and everywhere to go. He smells like white sheets and sun and I inhale him to my toes.  
"This is better."  
Another click.  
Edward's leg travels over mine, trapping me against him.  
Another click.  
"What are you going to do with so many pictures?" I mumble. "I'm right here."  
I feel his hand take my chin and my eyes turn upward, connecting to his green ones and I see them twinkle back at me, distant jade stars.  
"You are." He confirms and bends down, pecking my lips.  
Another click.  
"Edward..."  
"Bella..."  
Another peck, another click.  
"I love you, but if you don't put that thing away, I will refuse to kiss you ever again."  
Another click.  
I frown and make a move to pull away, but his arm is tight around me, under me. He moves closer and I try to move back.  
Another click.  
"Edward." I threaten but he moves closer.  
"Bella." He whispers, his voice brimming with love, reverent.  
I bite my lip and his eyes flicker to my mouth. He moves closer, his mouth only centimeters away.  
Another click.  
"That's distracting." I can barely even utter, because it's not. Nothing can distract me from Edwards full lips, the mix of love and male that I can taste even when he's pulled away.  
"Ignore it." The words are breath, simple exhale, not meant to be said, not meant to be heard.  
He moves closer, his eyes hooded, lips parted, tracing mine but no pressure, no kiss yet made.  
"Edward." I plead.  
Another click.  
He leans forward and my bottom lip is the filling to his mouth.  
Another click, I think.  
My arms travel up and around his neck and I pull him close, running my fingers through his hair. He lets escape a groan and I pull him lower. He's bending, but I cling, until convex of him touches every concave of mine and I would want to meld into one being if it weren't for the fact that I could never kiss him like this.  
Another click.  
He leans in, sucking, nipping, feeling, and I can't breathe from the want on this bed.  
"Bella." He whispers into me.  
My stomach coils and constricts, flies, and I pull him closer, because it's never enough. He's crushing my chest, my lungs and I have to pull back if only for air. He give me a milisecond before claiming my mouth again.  
Another click.  
The heat building, I trace my tongue softly along his bottom lip, begging entrance.  
Another click.  
His tongue ushers me in.  
Another click.  
We dance.  
Another click.  
We swim.  
Another click.  
We fall, are loved, float away.  
Another click.  
I smile because I understand the clicks now and his mouth turns up at my realization.  
Another click.  
My love, my need, my lust, my plead, my heart.  
Another click.  
He steals me.  
He's going to keep me.


	2. Morning sound

In the mornings, he wouldn't talk to her.

He would simply blink open his eyes as if just waiting for some signal to allow his rise. He would look at her, then the alarm clock and then back at her. His blue irises were cloudy still, sleep trailing from them like thunderclouds after a storm. He didn't recognize her then.

After the first few times, she couldn't stand seeing him look at her that way and started to wake up earlier so as not to be there. The sky was barely turning royal when her body coddled her awake. Her defense mechanisms had kicked in, trying to save her. She would look over her shoulder, feeling the heavy guilt on her shoulders. His form, curled around her tiny waist would have to be extracted from beside her. It was by far the worst way she wanted to start her day.

She would shower, the warm water soothing, a best friend listening patiently to her failures. She couldn't see his dreams. She couldn't bear that they took him away from her. She begrudged them, and she was a bad wife. The scalding streams carved trails into her skin, allowing penance, quiet forgiveness. She would walk out, reborn, happy, determined.

The sound of sizzling bacon would usher him into the kitchen. His hair, golden and crooked, lay flat on one side and seemed through a hurricane the other. She would reach up, smoothing it out, welcoming him back. He wasn't still awake and the storm as only just starting to wane. He'd kiss her on her temple, quick, and then reach behind her for coffee, the one thing he couldn't live without.

She was a bad wife again. There was no water there to purge her this time. Only food.

The bacon was crispier, the pancakes extra fluffy, the eggs just only slightly runny. He nodded, wolfing them down, and yet a word had to escape his mouth. She sat across from him, stabbing at eggs, snapping bacon, desecrating fluffy white pancakes. He didn't seem to notice, wasn't quite there yet, and it rankled every pore.

Hop in the shower, out, towel off and dress. Suit, tie, and shiny shoes that never seemed to scuff; it was what she'd first seen him in. Then, he'd been a really handsome gay man; it wasn't possible for a straight man to dress himself that way. Than he'd smiled at her and she knew she was wrong. It would have been completely unfair for a gay man to smile at someone that way.

In the beginning, his quiet had unnerved her. He was so unnaturally calm. She couldn't stand it...in the beginning.

He'd walk out of their bedroom, pulling at his tie. It annoyed him, she knew, the silk around his neck making him feel claustrophobic. Unfortunately, it would be highly unprofessional for a psychologist to wear a t-shirt to work. She hid her smile as she helped him loosen it. He would smile, his hands resting against her waist, the warm weight tingling and comforting. It was hard to hide her grin. She would look up through her lashes and giggle at his expression. His eyes were soft and gooey, the expression Emmett had always made fun of.

And this was why she was ok with the quiet, with no words and the stormy morning eyes. Because when she was done straightening his tie, he would bend down and rest his forehead against hers. He would smile and finally open his mouth, the first words always;  
"I love you, Alice."

When his eyes finally acknowledged the light, she was never there. His wife had an internal alarm clock that would ring at precisely six hours. Her body was made to move and it stubbornly refused to get accustomed to staying that still for that long.

His, on the other hand, was meant for calm. The quiet never bothered him. It was a lifelong friend, made familiar because of the single parent household he grew up in. She had boisterous siblings, brothers that would fart and bramble down the stairs at seven in the morning like a pack of elephants. He had a father that worked nights and slept during the day.

So while waking up had always brought her life, his had only brought loneliness. It was a wonder the two of them had found each other.

Even now, when he awoke, he had to get used to another body all over again, especially one that had an energizer battery pack seemingly attached at its feet. She flew just as much as she touched the ground and he had to remind himself every day that the quiet wasn't his morning anymore.

He would always reach out, stretching his arms to her side, hoping that just this once she'd have stayed by him. But they would always come up empty and cold. He'd sigh awake and instantly smell the food wafting through the bedroom doors. He'd grunt out of bed, staggering down the hallway into the brightly lit room. She would look up at him and beam, always bright, always there. He'd kiss her skin to tell himself she was real, that he didn't need to stay quiet.

It was hard to break the old habit, but the coffee would help. He needed to to bring himself back to her. Become her morning, because she has sure as hell become his. And so, he started the routine; the coffee, the cold shower, the god-awful suit he'd spend the rest of the day in. But he did for her, because she liked it, liked him in the suit, liked taking care of him in this suit. He still couldn't for the life of him understand the silk noose they insisted he wear, however. She would giggle, reaching automatically and swiftly to fix it, fitting her tiny body between his hands, knowing just how perfectly she was meant to be there. Her grey eyes carried such love and mirth, he couldn't help but smile back.

And then, because he truly couldn't keep it quiet any longer, he would tell her what he'd wanted to since he'd woken up without her there. He'd tell her loved her. And his wife, the woman who broke his mute cocoon with just her laugh, would reach up on her toes and kiss his lips and whisper sound right into him.

"I love you too, Jasper."


End file.
